Issue 150

Summer & Fall 2016

Image from Rehearsals for Extinct Anatomies

Poetry Arthur Solway Poetry Arthur Solway

Late Summer Lament

First I pass the man having a morning smoke,

his cart filled with ripe melons.

Then a woman with her pyramids

of summer peaches.

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Poetry Arthur Solway Poetry Arthur Solway

Today

When winter mornings stay darker

longer and the avenues

are still empty. Where the traffic lights

dangle like emeralds and rubies

for someone who squints.

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